


Love at the Lips

by BlueMidnightWorker



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Goodbyes, I'm pretty sure both Peter and Caspian are 16, M/M, Not A Fix-It, One Shot, Underage - Freeform, flowery language for days, leaving fic, movieverse, purple prose bullshit, vague insinuations of sex, what am I doing with my life...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMidnightWorker/pseuds/BlueMidnightWorker
Summary: Under cover of darkness, more can be said and felt in a moment, that could otherwise take lifetimes to explore.





	Love at the Lips

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Robert Frost's poem To Earthward.
> 
> I own nothing but the somewhat shady plot, sadly.
> 
> (Plz feel free to comment, I'd love to know literally any thoughts and opinions! Take pity on me lol)

_I crave the stain_  
_Of tears, the aftermark_  
_Of almost too much love,_  
_The sweet of bitter bark_  
_And burning clove._

~~~

The moon hung low in the sky, its oyster smooth surface cradled by a thousand shining stars. Behind it, the inky curtain of night was made darker for it.

Peter lay still, wrapped as heavily in blankets as he appeared to be in sleep. Yet try as he might, he could not relax the tension in his muscles, nor sort the turmoil in his mind. He supposed it was the effect of having slept on the ground for months, the bed he lay on now felt much too soft to be anything but strange.

It was no use, he decided, not with all the blankets and hangings of the four-poster bed keeping him hot. He longed to take a walk outside in the castle grounds, slip into the darkness of the forest and run until he could no longer feel the oppression the castle brought to him. It had been the same for every one of the nights since returning from his adventures with his siblings and Caspian. But in that Peter knew his true problem, not that the castle felt suffocating, but that tomorrow he would be returning to England - for good.

Aslan, however sad to see them go, had gently reminded Peter and Susan that Narnia could teach them no more. That when they returned to England there could be no coming back. He knew he wasn’t ready, not in the least, to go. Yet with a twist in his chest, he realised he would never really be ready to say goodbye.

With a sigh he pulled himself upright and slipped from the stifling sheets onto the cold stone floor, taking a deep breath in the hopes to calm his flushed face. The smell was reassuring; to him, it smelt familiar and safe. The cool almost earthen smell of the stone castle walls, the mustiness of the woven tapestries that covered them and beneath it all the fresh sharpness of the night outside.

An ache of grief swept through him. He had called Narnia home for longer than he ever had England, and it felt unreal that what had been such a huge part of his life could be taken so easily.

With light footsteps he slipped out of the room - _his_ room he had lived in the last time he was in Narnia, for a good twenty years.

Careful not to make a noise he padded through the maze of castle corridors with knowledge one only came to through experience, as he navigated his way in the near darkness up servants stairs and past grand halls alike. Finally, he reached the place he was looking for, where he could breathe the fresh air outside without the temptation to take off into the wilderness and never return. The top of the western tower.

But when he pushed open the old wooden door he found somebody was already there.

Caspian stood with his back to Peter, his profile cast into sharp relief by the moonlight. His face, shadowed in darkness, was turned to a distant ridge of mountains. A great wall of black along the horizon. He seemed for all the world as if he had not heard Peter arrive, and for that Peter was grateful. He realised that he couldn’t remember the last time he and Caspian had been alone together – and without arguing, Peter reminded himself bemusedly. Yet he almost didn’t want to talk, to break the silence that lay between them for the fear that he would never witness Caspian in such peace, with no Lords or Ladies to amuse, again. It was with a jolt that he realised that was exactly the truth.

As it does, when you wish a moment to last forever, it ended all too soon. A slight scrape of skin on stone, or a rustle of clothing as he shifted maybe, but Caspian had stiffened. Whirling around, his hands grabbed at his hip where his sword would have been, had he not been dressed in a loose shirt and trousers for sleep.

“Just me.” Peter stepped out into the light with his hands raised, and Caspian stared at him for a long moment before relaxing onto the stone balustrade behind him.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” His tone was neutral, but Caspian had an indiscernible look in his dark eyes that Peter couldn’t make out. It left him with a strange sense of foreboding.

Peter turned away to look out across the shadowed quiet grounds of Car Paravel, addressing the sky when he finally replied.

“I can sleep after I leave.”

It was only a small thing, but suddenly the roiling emotions in his chest threatened to break out and he had to shut his eyes a moment to let it pass.

Then, a hand rested softly on his shoulder and Peter blinked. Caspian stood beside him now, gaze resting on him steadily.

A ripple of feeling echoed through him at the touch, a sweet sensation that left him aching for something he knew he shouldn’t want. “Tell me what I can do to help,” Caspian murmured, so softly Peter almost didn’t hear.

“Sorry, I…” Peter didn’t know what he was sorry for, he turned away before Caspian could see the emotion in his eyes.

Behind him Caspian let out a harsh sound of unamused laughter that had Peter glancing back, to find a fierceness in Caspian he hadn't expected. 

“Why do you do that?” Caspian asked and through the hardness, Peter could hear the confusion, too.

“Whenever I get too close, you shut me out.”

It was true. Peter couldn’t very well tell him the reason why, but outside under the limitless night sky, Peter felt his tightly controlled emotions slipping from their restraints, and anger was the first to pull free.

“I don’t know, Caspian.” Peter pulled away from him roughly and stalked back towards the door, he should have left as soon as he realised who was up here. “Maybe because after tonight, I’m never going to see any of you again!” he paused, his breathing slightly rough as he made to pull open the door. Suddenly a firm hand was pulling him back around by the wrist.

“You don’t think it’s hard for me too?” Caspian laughed quietly, a broken and bitter sound that Peter felt lodge in his chest.

“You don’t think I’m dreading tomorrow too?”

Peter stilled, his gaze moved to meet Caspian’s as they both took measured breaths of night air.

“I didn’t think you felt like that.” Peter replied quietly, but Caspian couldn’t truly understand, he didn’t _feel_ for him like–

Peters gaze abruptly slid away from Caspian's to avoid the feeling of longing that had arisen from his tangible closeness.

It was in that moment Peter knew the extent of how utterly _impossibly_ painful it was going to be to leave Narnia.

The noise Caspian made then was one of pure exasperation before he was suddenly leaning in and kissing Peter firmly on the lips. For a moment Peter couldn’t move or breathe or even think. Then, it was an explosion of such feeling, of euphoria and shock and _grief_ that Peter jerked away.

They stared at each other a moment, blood thrumming hard and fast through them both, an almost audible sound in the silence between them. Either that or Peter’s ears were ringing.

“You never said anything,” Peter finally managed to choke out. “All this time and never a thing.” His mind was spinning and he had to lean up against the wall behind him, digging his fingers hard into the stone to clear his head.

“Peter,” Caspian said lowly, his voice pained. “Of course I didn’t, for the same reason you didn’t either. I didn’t know _how_ you felt, but I had to take the chance.” He took a step closer, hesitant until Peter didn’t move away and then brought his hand up to cup his cheek. It was rough with newly formed callouses, but surprisingly warm against the coldness of the night.

And it was true. Peter could see the look in his eyes now as clear as day, the one he knew he himself wore. Two people brought together and torn apart by the same thing, a play like one of the ones Lucy put on in the main courtyard - fated to be a tragedy since the very beginning.

It was too cruel, that they had just this one night in which to say and do what most lovers spent a lifetime taking for granted. But Peter was getting used to the reality that not everything ended up a fairytale. 

So Peter took a breath, a second to accept the bittersweet knowledge that this would be their first and last time together like this, and closed the distance between them to press a kiss to Caspian’s lips, soft and sure. Slowly, Caspian kissed him back, careful at first and then harder, more desperate. Peter was sure he would burst from all the sudden sensations rushing through him.

A hand smoothed down his shirt before slipping lightly onto the bare skin of his back and Peter gasped a little into Caspian’s mouth, their tongues brushed, and they held onto each other like drowning men. Caspian groaned, a low sound Peter felt all the way through his body that made his knees weak. He gripped Caspian’s shoulders tighter to stay up.

“Wait,” Caspian pulled back and Peter felt the ache of cold air where his body had been. “Maybe it would be best to go somewhere a little less…. outdoors?” Caspian grinned at him and then blushed. Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

”Come with me.” He whispered, taking Caspian by the hand and leading him back through the twisting labyrinth of stairs and hallways to his room, his heart racing and hand tingling where they touched.

His room was as he had left it, rumpled and full of moonlight. He turned as Caspian shut the door, flicking up the latch to lock it. Suddenly Peter felt nervous. For all his courage on the battlefield, being alone with Caspian in his bedroom sent nerves curling hot through his stomach. He huffed a stilted laugh, “Sorry about the state of the room I… haven’t really thought to tidy lately.” Caspian glanced around the mess of clothing, books and weapons that were scattered throughout in haphazard piles.

He turned a grin on Peter. “Why who knew, that for all his control High King Peter can be _messy_.”

Peter shook his head, but a smile curled its way onto his lips all the same.

“You think I’m controlled?” he asked absently as he watched the moonlight pick a halo out of Caspian’s hair.

“I think you need to let loose.” Caspian replied, and Peters breath hitched as he took a step closer and the neck of his shirt slipped to reveal a stretch of delicate collarbone. _Perhaps not so angelic_ Peter thought as his pulse picked up.

His hand rose without thinking from his side, and it was only when he automatically drew back that he realised he didn’t need to, not anymore. Hesitantly he laid his fingers on the edge of Caspian’s collarbone and then slowly drew them across, learning the feel of the soft skin there. Caspian shuddered and his eyes fell closed. A hand came up to grip his where it rested now against the rapid pulse at Caspian’s throat, and then suddenly Peter was tugged forward. They fell into each other like they were starving and touch was food, a _delicacy_. Caspian’s nose brushed his as they kissed, a feeling that was almost strangely too intimate. Peter focused on breathing in the smoky scent of him, carefully tracing Caspian’s lower lip with his tongue to catch the taste again.

Fingers curled into his sides, pulled at his shirt and Peter’s heart was beating so hard he was sure it echoed through Caspian’s body as well as his own. Caspian made a low sound in his throat when Peter’s fingers pushed into his hair, and they went stumbling backwards onto the bed.

Caspian’s weight above him was both reassuring and heady. The feel of his thighs over Peter’s hips was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The fact that Caspian’s face fit so perfectly between Peter’s cupped hands should not have had his heart fluttering so, but it did.

Caspian trailed his fingers along the lines of Peter’s ribcage beneath his nightshirt, dipped down between where they met at the top of his stomach and then down further over the curve of his hipbone. Peter shuddered at the _want_ that burned through him, a sensation he couldn't remember feeling so intensely before. It scared him how receptive he was to Caspian’s touch, and how easily they seemed to fit together. But there was a beauty in the way his hands, brushing over the sensitive skin on Caspian’s sides and then a kiss, pressed into the soft underside of his wrist could make Caspian laugh and then gasp in the same breath.

“You are a curiosity, Peter” Caspian whispered, face flushed and eyes dark with promise as he caught the hem of Perter’s shirt and lifted it over his head. “To think these hands that have killed could be so gentle.” He picked up Peter’s right hand and traced the callouses and lifelines with a finger, before he leaned in and gently kissed the palm. Peter’s fingers curled and he struggled to breathe through the sudden swooping sensation in his chest, just behind his heart.

“I would fight a thousand battles if it meant I could stay and touch you like this again,” Peter replied.  
  
Caspian closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath of his own, and when he opened them again some intensity in his eyes spoke of the king he would one day become. Fierce and loving and passionate. Peter had a brief moment of regret that he would never see it before Caspian pulled him in, and it was swept away by the shudder of his own body as it responded to Caspian’s firm hands and burning kisses.

Pleasure was something Peter could only vaguely recall from his time in Narnia before, like he was remembering through tinted windows and a hum of white noise. But with Caspian, it burned through him like a fever, sunk deep into his bones and wrapped a fist around his heart. He had to curl his hands into the sheets to ground himself.

Beyond the bed the moon cast flickering shapes onto them through the led paned glass, an undulation of shadows and light that melded with their movement and shifted like smoke. For Peter, in that moment the world felt both alien and familiar all at once, like the moonlight was reaching them through deep water. He felt, here with Caspian, separated from all life beyond the door and windows of his room. 

Had they world enough and time, Peter could have spent hours learning the rises and dips in Caspian’s body, where touched it would make him cry out or laugh or gasp. But the reality of the limited time they had also lent a strange confidence to them both. Where before Peter may have been hesitant to touch, he now explored without reservation, and cried out without embarrassment when Caspian suddenly dragged his teeth over the curve of his throat or ran his nails over the sensitive arch of his foot.

Their hands and bodies moved and joined in a desperate sort of passion that felt like fire and left them sweat slicked and gasping for breath. It was pain and pleasure all wrapped in one tight cocoon, hitting that fine edge between too much and just enough that had Peter’s toes curling and an ache forming behind his eyes like tears.  
He didn’t know sex could feel this way, how impossibly _close_ to another person you could be or how good Caspian’s skin could feel against his own. He never wanted it to end, but unfortunately, time worked in underhand ways. It seemed no sooner had Peter realised how terribly _effective_ the noises that Caspian made were in encouraging his own release, that they both collapsed spent and boneless onto the sheets, utterly sated. Peter rolled over to find Caspian already watching him and they shared a smile that was both much pleased and a little in awe.

For a minute they lay that way, just taking each other in as the world turned quietly outside. Peter thought he could hear a lark chirping somewhere near. Then suddenly Caspian was sitting up and gripping Peter tightly to him, and Peter ducked his face into Caspian’s neck in relief as he returned the hug tightly.

“Caspian, I-” Peter couldn’t get the words out.

“Hush,” Caspian murmured, his hand smoothed down Peter’s back in a firm rhythm and he couldn't help but be calmed. There was nothing more to say.

They sat that way, wrapped around each other for what felt like hours before Peter realised Caspian had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Peter couldn’t bring himself to wake him and wait out the morning together. He knew dawn approached beyond the castle walls, yet for now he was content in imagining that the darkness outside his window would last forever and that tomorrow might never come. He thought, as he sat holding the softness of Caspian’s sleeping form, that it wouldn't be such a tragedy to remain frozen here forever.

Gently, he lay Caspian back on the pillows and curled up on his side next to him. Warmth was a solid and reassuring sensation between them where their bodies met. Peter stared up at the dark canopy above him and blinked away the sleep that was threatening. He didn’t want to miss a moment, not when time seemed to be one of the shadows lurking overhead.

If all he could have was this stolen moment in time, this fleeting starburst of a memory, then he would hold it as tightly as he could so it might never slip away.

~~~

 _Love at the lips was touch_  
_As sweet as I could bear;_  
_And once that seemed too much;_  
_I lived on air_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed all of the purple prose, I had exams while writing this and it was a sweet, sweet form of procrastination. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Also: my editing skills suck and I have no beta so all mistakes are my own, of which there will be a few!)


End file.
